


The Vast Unknown

by J (jaywright)



Category: Vingt mille lieues sous les mers | Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21826108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaywright/pseuds/J
Summary: In an instant, my course was clear, laid out before me as if charted inexorably by the captain's instruments.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Vast Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaclynhyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaclynhyde/gifts).



> tagged gen as nothing overtly romantic occurs, but romantic interpretations of motives are encouraged.

The door to the lounge closed behind me, severing the last connection between myself and Captain Nemo.

I fled.

As I ran, my feet echoing against the gangways of the _Nautilus_ , I repeated the summation I had made in my bed, lying awake with my warmest clothes bundled beside me, awaiting the hour of our escape. 

Each wonder we had seen, each location we had traversed, each quiet moment of contemplation, and each thrill of adventure. I listed them all in my mind, and in my inventory, I found hesitation.

By the time my hand reached the door leading to the skiff, the doubts had crowded out all other thoughts in my head. As I pushed open the door, my eyes found my companions, and in an instant, my course was clear, laid out before me as if charted inexorably by the captain's instruments.

"Come on then, man," Ned Land said, oblivious to my turmoil, pushing past me to reach for the bolt on the door. "No time to lose."

It was Conseil who stilled him, not with a word, but with a hand, reaching out in the cramped space, his fingers finding Ned's arm, but his eyes not leaving mine.

"Master?" he prompted, but I could see in his expression that he had already classified and filed my motives as easily as if they had been a school of fish passing us by.

"I cannot leave," I said simply, and Ned grumbled, pulling away from Conseil's touch.

"What're you going to do, stay here out of terror of that monster for the rest of your life? Out of my way, professor. Time's running short."

"Not terror, my dear Ned," I told him, and did not move from the doorway. "And despite what we have seen, the captain is no monster. He is a man, and his deeds are a man's deeds. No more, no less."

"Yes, yes, alright," Ned acknowledged. "Save your philosophy for when your feet have met the soil again, won't you? Man, monster, it makes no difference when our lives are at stake."

"Oh, but it does," I said. "It makes all the difference."

That made Ned pause. "No," he said carefully, "I dare say it does not." He eyed me shrewdly. "But I don't suspect that anything I have to say will make much of a difference at this moment, will it?"

"No," I agreed. "I'm afraid it will not, dear Ned."

Conseil’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Master has decided to stay! Well, then, of course I shall remain with alongside him.”

I opened my mouth to object, but the Canadian, ever blunt, was the first to speak. “You’ll do no such thing! Don’t you see? He’s dismissed you.”

Conseil’s eyes went from Ned back to me. “Master?” he asked, looking young and lost.

"Conseil," I said. "You have served me well. Far better than I ever deserved. But the time has come for you to undertake an adventure on which I shall not join you." I thrust the carefully wrapped package of my notes into his hands. "You must see a record of our account to shore. There are few who will believe it, of course, but it is a tale that must be told regardless."

I half expected him to refuse me, but instead he clutched the book and nodded fiercely, stepping back toward Ned, whose arm went around him with unaccountable tenderness.

My eyes went to Ned. "See to his safety," I said, and the nod Ned gave me was sharp and crisp.

"You know that I will." He looked wildly about. "But the point will be moot," he continued, "if we stay here much longer."

"I know." I stepped forward, taking Conseil by the shoulders and leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. "Go, my friends. Go, and live." One of Conseil's hands lifted to clutch at mine against his shoulder, and his grip only loosened when Ned stepped forward to clap me fiercely on the back.

"Professor," he said gruffly, in farewell.

"Friend Ned," I replied in the same manner.

He stepped back and reached for Conseil instead. To this day, I do believe that it was only the grip of Ned's hand against his arm that propelled the dear brave lad away from me. His eyes stayed on me to the last.

I backed away from them, slamming the door. Over the roar of the seas and the commotion of sailors bustling past me, I could hear the sound of the bolt being thrown, a pause, and then a deafening crunch as the skiff was torn from its moorings and departed the _Nautilus_ forever.

I pray that my friends were safe inside. I pray that they made their way to the shore. 

I will likely never know for certain. What I do know is this: whether through some divine intervention or through the sheer force of the captain's will, the _Nautilus_ ripped itself from the swirling storm of the waves. How, I may likewise never know. 

I stumbled backwards, away from the door behind which my friends had disappeared, knocking directly into a passing crewman. He snapped something unintelligible and gestured me back toward the lounge. I followed his direction as if in a trance, holding tight to the walls to keep from being buffeted about in the storm. I considered turning instead for the bow, making my way to the wheelhouse, but the thought of facing the captain was unbearable.

I felt a sick lurch as I pushed open the door to the lounge, half fearing that he might still be there - whether curled against the floor in misery or standing by the window in a stately manner that would make me doubt all that my eyes had seen not so long before - but the room was deserted.

I set to cushioning some of the more delicate specimens, just to give my hands something to do, to keep my eyes from the turmoil outside the window. My task finally completed, I sat, and I held on.

The time that followed was an agony of motion and sound, such that the silence, when it fell some interminable period of time later, was deafening.

I continued to clutch at the furniture, fearing for vague unformed reasons to return to my stateroom. Instead, I slid into a fitful sleep there on the couch, and was woken only by the sound of a door opening, invading my dreams.

There was no surprise in the captain's face as he regarded me, blinking groggily up at him. I supposed that his men had informed him of the departure of my companions, and my continued presence onboard.

"Captain," I said, simply to break the silence. "The _Nautilus_ survives to sail another day."

"She always does," the captain replied in a matching tone. "Until the day that she does not."

"Deceptively simple."

His eyes on me were hard, and still held the maelstrom within them. "Why are you here, professor?" he said flatly.

"I remained," I said simply, and could see the frustration in his face at the lack of concrete response.

"A 'how,'" he pointed out, "rather than a 'why.' But I suppose that may be a discussion for another time. The discussion for now, however, remains."

"And which discussion is that?"

"This," he said, gesturing at me. "Your continued presence here, and what I am to do with it."

"Yes," I agreed. "I suppose we must have it out, then. Shall I return to the prisoner's cell?" I asked him, "or prepare to be jettisoned overboard?"

A flash of discomfort shaded his features, but was gone in a moment. "I have not yet decided what to do with you," he said.

"That much is clear."

"But no. You are no prisoner, Professor Aronnax. Nor are you a guest any longer. Your place on this vessel is...yet to be determined." If only my dear Conseil remained, to classify me effortlessly into my appropriate niche in this environment. The thought brought with it a pang of loss, and I spoke without the care that I usually gave the words I exchanged with the captain. 

"You have asked no bond or vow of me," I said.

"No," he agreed shortly. "I have not."

"I give it regardless," I said, and saw for the first time a flicker of surprise cross his inscrutable face.

"Professor Aronnax," he began, but I did not let him finish.

"When my companions and I first came aboard your vessel," I said, "we exchanged transparency for security. I am no longer content with the terms of that agreement."

"That agreement," he said dryly, "is no longer in place. Look around you, professor. Your companions have gone. You are alone, and you have already so thoroughly overstepped the bounds of the original terms of our contract that any reference to it is little more than mockery."

"Which is why," I said, "I propose a new one." I gestured toward the rest of the ship. "Your men. They have forsaken their homelands, their lives beyond the sea, to join you. I have now done the same. I commit myself to this life. To this vessel, and - " I allowed no hesitation into my voice as I concluded, " - to you. In exchange, I make only one request."

"This is not a negotiation."

"Your honesty," I continued, as if he had not spoken. "I am no longer a passenger, to be shielded by my ignorance from complicity. I have chosen to remain aboard despite full knowledge of the deeds of which you are capable. My complicity is inherent in that decision."

"Nothing," he said shortly, "is inherent in that decision. Much less my acceptance of it." He turned to glower out the window. "Your stateroom," he said finally, "is yours. The lounge remains available for your studies, if you intend to continue them."

I looked at him long enough that he finally turned, our eyes meeting. "And you?" I hazarded to ask. His gaze was steely. "You have been absent these past weeks, your goings unknown to myself and my companions. As a member of your crew, I feel that - "

"You are not - " he interrupted sharply, "a member of my crew." He turned on his heel and retreated from the room, but not without a final parting shot of, "And my time is my own."

I stood there for a long time, watching the sea pass outside, now tranquil and calm in the aftermath of the storm, and eventually, as he had done, I turned for my stateroom, for I no longer had anywhere else to turn.

I did, as the captain had suggested, return to my studies. The bulk of my previous notes had departed with Conseil, and I spent some time in consideration of attempting to duplicate what I remembered of them in the event they had been lost to the sea. Ultimately, however, I concluded that what I produced would be a pale imitation of what had been before, so instead I turned my efforts toward examining that which could be observed through the lounge windows. They remained open now most days, and I was not certain whether to take it as a peace offering from the captain, or merely a coincidence.

We continued in a northerly direction, but from the species I could identify through the glass, we appeared to be drifting westward, toward the coast of Canada. I spared some time in my thoughts for Ned, for my hopes that he had once again reached his native land, perhaps with Conseil by his side. 

Our course remained uncharted on the maps, with no one appearing to use the lounge by myself, and so I began to attempt to plot our location myself, uncertain, but growing more sure as the days moved on and I became more attuned to the vessel and the sea around me.

Of the captain himself, I saw no sign, nor did I hear a sound from his stateroom. I took my meals alone, and though I had committed myself to this life of solitude, the oppression of it weighed on me more heavily than I had anticipated.

In that vein, I began to intersperse my studies of the deep with an attempt at documenting and deciphering the tongue which the crewmen spoke among themselves. The structures were unlike those of any language I had previously studied, but to my practiced ear, a vague shape slowly began to make itself known in the patterns of words and usage. 

If these were to be my countrymen, I reasoned, and the captain was to be unavailable for translation, it would be in my best interests to attempt to get along on my own. 

Some time passed before I came upon an opportunity to put my cobbled together words to use, but just as I was beginning to feel the first stirrings of cabin fever, I came across some of the crew kitting themselves out for a fishing expedition.

"Might I join you?" I attempted to request in my halting speech, and the man leading the expedition nearly dropped his diving helmet in surprise.

The conversation with his fellows that followed was too hurried and intense for me to follow much of it, but eventually, he turned to me and answered in the affirmative, gesturing impatiently over his shoulder to where the suits were kept.

Stepping out into the sea was a release, a widening of my world from the tight walls of the vessel to the nearly infinite expanse of the depths, and I felt myself exhale as if cleansing myself of weeks of silence and similarity.

I acquitted myself well in the hunt - not as well has Ned would have, of course, but managing to bring no shame on myself and my decision to join in - and we returned to the Nautilus laden with fish and turtle meat, which smelled utterly divine as it was placed in front of me at the table that night.

To my surprise, a second plate was produced and placed across from me, and nearly simultaneously, the door to the captain's stateroom opened. He looked no different than he ever had, not disheveled from his long weeks of mysterious conduct, but there was a solicitousness to his air as he settled across from me that I had not seen from him in some time. He proffered a carafe of something that smelled of strong liquor, and I nodded my assent, sliding my glass across the table toward him.

I lifted the glass and sniffed carefully before tasting it. It burned pleasantly, warming me through, and he lifted his own glass in something that was nearly a toast before sipping from it.

"A successful hunt today," he said, tucking into his meal, and it was not a question, so I did not reply. "Perhaps on the next," he continued, "I shall join you."

"I would like that." The words left me before I could rethink them, but he looked pleased. "If it is not too presumptuous," I continued a little more coldly, "of your time."

"Professor," he said, and it was not the sharp rebuke I expected. "I admit that your presence onboard has left me…" he hesitated, as if carefully choosing the correct words, "...with a quandry. The men of my crew have until this time been just that. A crew. My crew. A family, of sorts, if you like, but chosen for their skills in areas of utility, configured to work alongside each other as easily as facets of the _Nautilus_ herself. You are an anomaly here. You have no _function_ , as it were, other than to further your studies. You were brought aboard through accident, rather than by purpose, and have remained aboard through your choice rather than by mine." 

He fell quiet for a long moment, taking a bite of his food, sipping his liquor, and I let the silence settle until he continued. "I have not, since my feet last left the soil of men, had any use for a...companion." He said the word as if it were distasteful. "But when the seas washed you aboard, I found that there was...a certain enjoyment in sharing the wonders of the sea and my vessel with you, one with the learning and experience to rightly appreciate these things for the marvels they are. I came to believe, for a time, that you, among all men, may be uniquely suited for life such as that my men and I lead."

"For a time?" I repeated, and darkness clouded his expression.

"I left behind the judgement of men years ago," he said stiffly, "and I do not care to ever see another man look at me the way that you did on the day we sunk that vessel."

The _we_ was a sharp sting to my conscience, but even so, I could see it for the offering it was, the acknowledgement that my choice had brought me into alignment with him, whether that was the true wish of either of us or not.

"I cannot promise you," I said, "that you would not see my horror and revulsion again, should something of the like occur once more. Just as you, I suspect, could not promise me that you would never again be driven by vengeance to commit such senseless slaughter."

"Senseless!" he repeated, his anger piqued. "Just because _you_ cannot see the sense of a thing - "

"What I can promise," I interrupted him, "is my attempt at understanding." 

His mouth closed, his words silencing themselves.

"I am a man of science, captain," I continued. "Of reason and deduction, not of vengeful passions. And I know you share some of my sentiments on this matter. So you can understand that with a minimum of evidence or context, I cannot hope to view your actions through any lens but that which I have available to me: my own subjective view, which has been so thoroughly shaped by that very world of men which you abhor." I paused to take a sip of my drink, feeling it warm me through. "This is why I have requested your honesty, your candor. Not to extract some toll from you, but to help me understand your motives, as you have helped me understand your vessel and your chosen country of the sea. I ask that you share some of yourself, to become 'Someone' rather than 'No One' in my eyes. Only through this, I fear, may you be spared the judgement you so dread."

He regarded me for a long moment, his eyes deep and fathomless as the sea beyond the panes of the window behind him, and slowly, he nodded.

"I can see the wisdom in what you propose," he said, "even if it does go against all that I have lived by these past many years." He leaned forward, refilling both my glass and his own. "Make yourself comfortable, professor. The tale is not short, nor is it pleasant. But perhaps, by its end, you will come to look upon me with new eyes."

Night had no meaning, here in the depths, the captain's eyes reflecting the electric light of his home as he spoke, but I know that we had passed long into it before he was finally recounting a time that I, too, recalled. And as the hours passed, I did not yet come to know him entirely - as I would, over the next many, many years - but I came to understand a bit more than I had, and I came to see him more fully as the man I had known that he was, rather than the monster that Ned had suspected.

"So, professor," he said finally, late into the night when his story had died away, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen around us. "What of your views of me now? Have they adapted, in the face of new evidence?"

"I am not certain," I replied, and continued before he could take offense, "for I no longer entirely remember how I saw you hours ago."

The twist of his lips was small, but was reminiscent of a smile I wished to see more of. "And next time," he said, "perhaps it shall be your turn to tell a tale."

"Of course," I agreed, "it should not be half so thrilling as yours, but I would welcome the chance. After all," I said, recalling his own words from long ago, and seeing the smile grow across his face as I repeated them, "there can be no secrets between men who will never leave each other."


End file.
